Everyday Love
by SecretBox
Summary: o2. And together, they heal; —ღ— \ ishihime /
1. Chapter 1

► So I'm thinking that this will be a collection of drabbles — inspired by everyday ordinary things and/or events with a romantic or humorous twist added into the mix. Most will probably be IchiRuki methinks, since I love that couple so much; and next one up shall be IshiHime, because they're so sweet. Lemme know if it's worth continuing hm? (:

Also, just to make it clear, I do not own Bleach. & thanks so much to _The Great Naxa_ and _Ereluna_ for beta'ing for me! I really appreciate it. Now that I'm more comfortable writing for this fandom, it's time for action. Let's go for it!

* * *

**everyday**LOVE.

o1 bath: ichigo**rukia**.

* * *

Ichigo is even grumpier than usual.

She can tell from his eyes — pools of cinnamon and spice are halfway hidden by peach-colored eyelids — and he is grumbling underneath his breath more annoying than usual. Albeit they are positioned awkwardly — he is sitting in the tub, body hunched over amidst the huge, soapy roseate bubbles with his legs spread out — and her dainty feet planted outside of either of his legs. Meanwhile her hips are pretty much in his face (_but it isn't like Ichigo is looking anyway_) and her long and slender fingers are running and lacing themselves through his amber hair.

"How long is this going to take?" The orange-haired teen glowers, his face set in a petulant scowl.

"Well, maybe if you'd stop moving I'd be done already," Rukia snaps in her assertive voice, pulling on a spiky chunk of damp tawny locks — "Oow, that hurt, midget!" — and then Ichigo's face scrunches up and he is shaking his head like a dog would with wet fur (_much to her disappointment — now she'd have to start all over!_). Rukia eyes Ichigo sharply, her liquid indigo eyes shining with annoyance at the teen's failure to just quit being a baby; her characteristic stubborn quality runs and explodes through her veins before spurring her to immediate action.

"Ichigo! Shut. Up." With that, Rukia reaches over to scoop up the bottle of strawberry scented shampoo, and squeezes a large dollop of opaque pink cream in her hand. She resumes in her massage of his scalp with the pads of her fingers and nails; a wickedly triumphant smirk takes residence on her face as he begins to lean into her touch, enjoying her tender ministrations so much that his russet orbs actually drift shut in utter bliss. "I'm only trying to ensure you live up to your name. What kind of strawberry smells like dry rot?"

Ichigo automatically complains, "Will you stop rubbing in the fact that my name means strawberry?!"

"You say it like it's a bad thing," she says quietly, gaze focused on her task. Ichigo's whole body stiffens, eyes flashing open and widening so much that it hurts, when he feels a warm, chaste peck on his forehead. His tanned face burns bright vermillion, heart skipping beats.

…

…

Maybe bubble baths aren't so bad, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

►_Oh how I love this pairing _—_ sweet Ishida would do something like this, I think. _:D

* * *

**everyday**LOVE.

o2 sick: ishida**orihime**.

* * *

The curtains rustle, and beyond the sounds of trees shedding their crinkled leaves in an endless flow of burnished autumn rain, there is no other sound. Inside his head is a bottomless sea, swimming with colors and resonances that melt into another and yet stand out sharply.

Dappled sunshine breaks through the crystal panes and flows in from the half opened window. Shafts of shimmering gold trace the edges of her lashes and fall into the contours of her angelic face. His head is a heavy weight, just shy of her more slender, fragile body. Consciousness comes slowly to him and he wakes with a start, as if he did not know that he was waking.

Orihime looks serene and content — her brilliant auburn hair spilt about her head in a wreathe of orange blossoms, fire flowers, and tiger lilies — despite the low fever flushing her porcelain cheeks in a rose-tinted glow and warming her skin. Worriedly, he tenderly brushes a knuckle against her sweaty forehead and pushes away from the bed, resolving to boil more leeks. He does not see thick lashes bat; petite shoulders rise and fall. Crystalline irises flutter.

He does stop because something is rooting him to the spot — her small, frail hand barely manages a weak hold on the sleeve of his shirt. And yet it is this single, fragile gesture that has more staying power than any chains and locks and cages and all the horribly natural things in the world. Sometimes, he wonders if she knows this.

A frown envelopes her mouth as she quietly asks, "Ishida-kun, did you stay up all night?"

Ishida nods, unable to keep from flushing a bright shade of pink; the beautiful Orihime giggles softly, directing a small, genuine smile towards his slightly bewildered face.

"I'll take care of you when you get sick next, okay?"

They smile together. Laugh together. Hold each other's hands.

…

…

And together, they heal.


End file.
